LINDA FINLAY lives on the Devonshire coast and is the author of nine novels. From lacemaking to willow weaving, each one is based on a local craft which, in order to write authentically and place herself firmly in the shoes of her heroines, she has learnt to do herself. However, it is people and their problems that make for a good story and, with so much interesting material to work with, it is easy for Linda to let her imagination run as wild as the West Country landscape, which has inspired her writing. The Girl with the Silver Bangle is her tenth novel.

Also by Linda Finlay

The Royal Lacemaker

The Girl with the Red Ribbon

A Family For Christmas

The Sea Shell Girl

Monday’s Child

Orphans and Angels

The Flower Seller

The Bonbon Girl

The Girl with the Amber Comb

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

Copyright © Linda Finlay 2021

Linda Finlay asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © March 2021 ISBN: 9780008392659

Version 2021-02-11

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To My Family

Silver Stars Shining Brightly in the Bangle of Life

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Extract

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

1910 – Camberwell, London

Although sixteen-year-old Daisy Tucker had worked at the Fun Factory in Camberwell for nearly a year, watching the scene builders assembling sets in the yard and the props being loaded onto carts ready to be transported to The Hippodrome still filled her with excitement.

The Guv’nor, Fred Karno, a successful theatre promoter, had directed the terrace of five houses in Vaughan Road be knocked through, affording plenty of indoor and outside space for performers to practise, staging and costumes created and paraphernalia stored. Now he employed many local people and offered opportunities for advancement. Although Daisy had started off washing and ironing the costumes, she had a dream and was working hard to achieve it. She’d already been promoted to one of the runners for the overseers, but her passion was drawing and painting, her ambition to work with the artists. Soon there would be a vacancy coming up in their studio and she was determined to secure the position, even if it meant competing with her fellow runner and arch-rival, Arnie Bragg. With his pointed face and dark hooded eyes, he reminded Daisy of a rat, pushing his nose into everything and telling anyone who’d listen how good he was.

Daisy, meanwhile, had decided to take a more direct approach, and as soon as she’d seen the scenery artists were under pressure to meet their deadline she’d offered to help prepare their backdrops. Now, having found a corner out of the way, she began thinly spreading primer over the large canvas, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell of ammonia as she carefully ensured it went right to the edges.

As she worked, her imagination ran wild. She could picture the scene she’d create as clear as the sunny day. Except hers would be nocturnal. A sliver of silver moon emerging from the midnight sky, shooting stars with spangles winking to the audience from the stage and, in the bottom right-hand corner, her own trademark: a tiny white daisy.

Absorbed in her task, she didn’t notice the sky darkening or the scene builders hastily pushing their sets back into their workshop until a big fat raindrop landed on her painting. ‘Bloomin’ August weather,’ she muttered, jumping to her feet. One minute there wasn’t a cloud to be seen, the next the heavens opened.

‘Look sharp, Daisy, and get that out of the wet straightaway or it’ll be your backside the Guv’nor’ll have for his backdrop,’ Stan the overseer ordered, appearing at her side and snatching the brush from her hand. Impatiently, he gestured to the props piled inside the double doors. ‘And when you’ve done that you can get them custard pies loaded onto the cart.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Daisy replied, struggling under the weight of the enormous canvas.

‘Oh, dear,’ Arnie smirked, scrutinising the board hopefully as he passed Daisy in the corridor. ‘Didn’t get it wet, did yer?’

‘No, thank heavens,’ Daisy replied.

‘Shame,’ he muttered, transferring the furs and furbelows he was carrying from one arm to the other. ‘Anyhow, you’re a runner and should be helping me with this lot, not sucking up to them artists. And don’t think you’ve a chance of getting that job in the studio. That’s mine.’

‘Been offered it then, have you?’ Daisy asked, eyeing him speculatively.

‘I will be,’ he said, puffing out his chest importantly.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ she told him.

‘Well, they’re not going to offer it to you. Everyone knows girls get married and have babies.’

‘Haven’t you heard the world’s changing, Arnold Bragg,’ she retorted. ‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, some of the artists here are female.’ Refusing to let him get under her skin, she hefted the canvas higher and continued on her way. Despite what Arnie said, she intended getting that position. Already the artists were asking for her as they knew she would do a thorough job. Her father had impressed upon her that a task, however menial, was worth doing properly or not at all, and she took great pride in her work. Arnie, by contrast, was slapdash, hurrying through his tasks so he could sneak outside for a smoke, for this was not allowed on the premises. He also had a mean streak and there was nothing he’d have liked better than for Daisy’s canvas to have been ruined.

Daisy wrestled her way into the artists’ airy studio, breathing in the heady smell of paint. It was her favourite room, with a bench running the entire length, its wide shelves covered in huge jars of pigments, bottles containing liquids in every hue, and bristle brushes of varying sizes. Dodging the scenery that had been left to dry, she propped the primed canvas against the wall, ready for the design detail to be added.

‘Goodness, Daisy, surely you didn’t manage that all by yourself?’ Scarlett asked, frowning as she looked up from her easel.

Daisy nodded, not willing to admit her arms felt as if they’d been wrenched from their sockets.

‘You are a dear helping out like this.’ Scarlett delved into the front of her bright-red smock, drawing out a sheet of paper and stub of pencil. ‘I know how you love to draw so have these for your trouble.’

‘Bet that pretty little head of yours was busy designing its own set while you were splashing on the primer,’ Blue, her fellow artist, teased.

‘I’ll have you know I took great care to prime your canvas properly,’ Daisy retorted. ‘Although you know me only too well,’ she ruefully admitted, pocketing the proffered gifts, which they’d assured her were perks of the job.

‘Well, come on then, spill the beans; what did you dream up?’ Scarlett asked, green eyes studying her curiously.

‘It was a night sky, with twinkling stars and …’ she stuttered to a halt as the two artists exchanged amused glances.

‘The reality won’t be half as romantic, I’m afraid.’ Blue sighed. ‘We have to create another stage upon a stage for a performance up country.’ Daisy watched as he distractedly wiped his hands on his own brightly coloured smock and wished she had something brighter than her white pinafore to wear.

‘We’ve another canvas needing priming but you can do it in here, if you’d like,’ Scarlett told her.

‘Daisy, where the hell are you? I’ll not tell you again.’ Stan’s roar reverberated around the high-ceilinged room. As he appeared at the open door, arms folded across his ample belly, they shot her a sympathetic look.

Dodging past him, she dived into the props room and snatched up the pies required for the slapstick comedy.

‘Today, girl,’ he growled.

Daisy narrowed her eyes, tempted to lob one at his pate with its combed-over wisps of greying hair. Obviously she wasn’t called a runner for nothing, she thought, racing down the corridor as fast as she could manage.

It was satisfying helping the sets for the productions come together, but the mundane tasks were repetitive and she itched to be creative. Still, she’d have to bide her time. With her parents needing her wage, Daisy hadn’t had the luxury of receiving any formal training, unlike Harry, her follower, who was studying at the Camberwell College of Arts and Crafts.

Although that institute was council-funded, as her father had told her, if you’re learning you ain’t earning. Still Daisy couldn’t grumble, for her school teacher, recognising her talent, had suggested she apply for a job here, telling her father that she would then be earning while learning. Despite wanting her to work alongside him at the ginger beer factory, he’d finally given in, admitting he wanted her to be happy. She loved her job but, after paying her mother for her keep, she could hardly afford a pencil let alone a sketch pad, which was why she was so grateful for the odd bits and pieces Scarlett and Blue gave her. However, the position in the studio would mean a rise in wages, which was another reason why she was determined to get it.

Despite not having much money for luxuries, the three of them were a close-knit family, scrimping to pay the rent on a modest two-up two-down terraced house off the Northway Road close to the Fun Factory. ‘We might be working class,’ her mother always declared, ‘but that doesn’t mean we can’t live in a respectable area.’ It meant that Daisy could help out at home, for having damaged her legs in a bad fall, which had cost her the baby she was carrying, her mother had been forced to give up her busy job as a seamstress. Although she took in sewing, they were mainly alterations and mending jobs, which didn’t make the most of her talents. However, she prided herself on keeping their house nice and serving up a hot meal when Daisy and her father returned each evening.

‘Hey, look out.’ The warning shout stirred Daisy from her thoughts and she just managed to duck in time to avoid being hit by a long wooden plank. As the props clattered to the floor, three apprentices emerging from the carpentry workshop grinned sheepishly.

‘Sorry,’ Billy shouted, endeavouring to be heard above the sounds of sawing and hammering. ‘We’ve spent all afternoon shaping this specially to fit the backdrop for tonight’s act at the Hippo. Give us a moment to load it onto the cart then we’ll come back and help you with that lot,’ he added, nodding to the pies that were still rolling along the corridor.

‘Good job they’re only meant for throwing,’ she told them, grimacing at the large dent in the top of one.

‘It’s a shame they’re not real; I’m starving,’ Slim Jim said, reaching out his hand as if to check the one she was still holding wasn’t edible.

‘Oi, you lot, get yourselves cleaned up before you touch any of them props,’ Stan bellowed, pointing to the sawdust clinging to their overalls. ‘Some of them’s worth more than your wages,’ he added.

‘That’s not difficult, know what I mean?’ Ted smirked, winking at Daisy as they manoeuvred the timber through the doors to the yard, where once again the fickle summer sun was shining.

‘It could soon be arranged that you don’t get any at all,’ Stan called after them. ‘Don’t just stand there gawping, girl,’ he added, turning back to Daisy. ‘Got another canvas to prepare for them prima donnas, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she muttered. Honestly, the man had ears like an elephant and missed nothing. She couldn’t help smiling at Stan’s scathing remarks though, for, much to his chagrin, the artists insisted on being called Scarlett and Blue instead of their real names. When he’d complained, Mr Karno had told him that if it helped them get into character that could only be beneficial for their creativity and having, once been a performer himself, he obviously knew about these things. Catching sight of the clock on the wall, she bit down her impatience. She’d have to hurry to get that canvas done if she was to get home in time for tea. Her mother didn’t have many house rules but supper at six was a given.

‘Here, let me help,’ Kezia offered, appearing seemingly from nowhere. Her dark curls danced like a halo around her head as she scooped the pies up from the floor. Daisy smiled gratefully. It still surprised her that, despite the difference in their status, the glamorous trapeze artiste had taken Daisy under her wing, showing her where things were and introducing her to everybody. Consequently, Daisy had soon been accepted by everyone. Now they were firm friends and when she had a rare free moment, there was nothing Daisy liked better than watching the lithe figure swinging high above the practice room as she perfected her act. ‘Come on, let’s get these loaded before it rains again,’ Kezia urged.

‘Should you be here helping me, though?’ Daisy asked, glancing anxiously at the overseer.

‘Oh, don’t take any notice of him,’ Kezia whispered, giggling when she saw the man gazing appreciatively at her long legs. ‘Yer like a big pussycat really, ain’t you, me ‘andsome,’ she purred, in her attractive West Country drawl. A flush spread up the man’s neck and he turned quickly away. ‘See, yer just has to stand yer ground,’ Kezia told her as they made their way outside.

‘Thanks,’ Daisy murmured as they packed the pies alongside the other props.

‘Yer Harry back yet?’ the girl asked.

‘No, he’s spending the summer holidays working at his family’s ironmongers in Woolwich. I can’t wait until he comes back.’ Daisy sighed. Although he’d only been gone a couple of weeks, already she was missing him more than she’d thought possible.

‘Well, he certainly be a fine specimen of manhood if you don’t mind me saying.’ Kezia chuckled, giving her a nudge. Daisy felt her face grow hot. The summer evenings had been so sultry, they’d taken to strolling around the park after supper and Harry’s kisses behind the bandstand had become increasingly passionate. The night before he’d left, he’d asked her to marry him once he’d finished his course. He’d even promised to design a posie ring and engrave it with a message that signified his feelings for her. Being a talented jewellery maker, she knew it would be something really special. Recalling the tender expression in his cornflower blue eyes as he’d stared deeply into hers sent delicious tingles of excitement shivering down her spine.

‘Oh Daisy, yer face is a study,’ Kezia teased. ‘Listen, it’s my night off so why don’t yer come and see the new show with me?’

‘Well, I er …’ Daisy mumbled, knowing she had no money.

‘Timbo’s promised to sneak me in, so meet me by the stage door before the performance starts,’ Kezia winked.

‘Alright then,’ she replied enthusiastically, her spirits rising at the thought.

Hurrying back to the studio, she set about priming the other canvas. If she worked quickly, she’d have time to change out of her plain work pinafore then eat supper before meeting her friend. She hadn’t had an evening out since Harry left and an opportunity to see the first night’s performance would be a real treat.

She was still smiling an hour later when she joined the press of tired workers surging through the double doors. It never ceased to amaze her how many people worked at the Fun Factory, and they were all such a mix. Important-looking men in their bowler hats and dark suits pushed past boys in flat caps and rough woollen jackets, while young girls wearing bonnets, with white pinafores covering their dark dresses, smiled coyly at them. Then there were the artists, with their flamboyant smocks and berets. How she dreamed of dressing like that too.

‘What are you looking so happy about?’ Arnie asked, shooting Daisy a suspicious look as he appeared at her side.

Daisy shrugged. ‘Just pleased to be going home.’ Then she frowned, all thoughts of people’s attire vanishing, as she spotted her parents waiting on the pavement beyond the gates. They were both looking anxious, and, despite the warm weather, her mother was wearing her coat. Her heart sunk to her boots, for her father was gripping the handles of a barrow, which was piled high with their possessions. Something terrible had occurred.

Chapter 2

‘What’s happened?’ Daisy asked her parents when she finally managed to reach them.

‘Come on, love,’ her mother said, ‘we’ll talk on the way.’ Ignoring the curious looks being cast in their direction, she took Daisy’s arm and urged her along the street.

‘But …’ she began, staring at the barrow, which had obviously been loaded in a hurry.

‘It’s a rum do, love, and all of me own making,’ her father groaned, his grey eyes bleak.

‘Now, Arthur, remember no airing our linen in public,’ Mabel reminded him, eyeing the crowd still spilling from the Fun Factory, before determinedly crossing the road. Although her mother’s limp was pronounced, a sure sign that she was stressed, it was all Daisy could do to keep up.

‘But we’re going in the wrong direction,’ she protested as her mother veered left into Coldharbour Lane. ‘Our home’s the other way.’

‘Not any more, it isn’t.’ Mabel sighed, peering around. ‘Tell her, Arthur.’

Daisy stared at her father who grimaced.

‘Been given the elbow, haven’t I? Didn’t even get me full pay.’

Daisy frowned. ‘That can’t be right. You’re good at your job, and as leading hand everyone looks up to you.’

‘The bosses don’t now. Screwed up good and proper. I’ve really let you and your mother down,’ he muttered, giving the handle of the barrow a thump.

‘Arthur Tucker, we’ll have no more of that. A hero is what you are,’ Mabel protested.

‘Doesn’t pay the rent or put decent food on the table, though, does it?’

‘Will someone please tell me exactly what’s going on,’ Daisy cried, stopping abruptly in the middle of the pavement.

‘Your father stood up for a young widow who was being bullied.’

‘They were playing on her vulnerability, trying to make her do things that, well …’ He shrugged, his expression telling her more than the words he couldn’t formulate.

‘He got sacked for saving a woman’s honour,’ her mother exclaimed, indignation making her voice sharp.

‘Keep your voice down, Mabel. This creaking barrow’s drawing enough attention as it is,’ Arthur muttered, as people on the other side of the road turned their heads to stare. ‘We’re having to move, girl, in case you hadn’t realised. Come on, I’ll explain fully when we reach our new home. Not that it’s much, mind,’ he added, giving Daisy a warning look.

‘Home is where the heart is, Arthur,’ Mabel told him, and he smiled gratefully.

‘But where’s the rest of our furniture and things?’ Daisy asked, frowning at the few bits in the barrow.

‘Not getting paid meant I couldn’t pay the rent so the landlord kept your mother’s favourite possessions in lieu.’ Her father’s mouth tightened into a line and Daisy knew better than to question him further.

As they turned down Denmark Hill, Daisy was so busy trying to take in what she’d been told that she hardly noticed the horse-drawn trams and carts, the cries of costers peddling their wares or the shopkeepers pulling up their awnings. It was only when her parents stopped outside the Cock public house and began looking around that she realised their surroundings were less than salubrious.

‘We’ve obviously taken the wrong route,’ she cried. ‘What street are we looking for?’

‘Tiger Yard, and if Cock Yard is by this public house then it must be over there by that one,’ her father muttered, pointing ahead. ‘Come on,’ he added, as Daisy stared at him in disbelief.

Without waiting for a reply, he pushed the barrow through the narrow alleyway towards two terraces of run-down houses where tattered rags flapped listlessly at the windows and paint peeled from the doors. Urchins kicking a pig’s bladder up the street eyed their possessions speculatively, whilst grubby toddlers playing in the dirt ignored them completely. A group of frowsy women gathered around a water pump stopped their chatting and watched as Daisy and her parents walked towards them.

‘Good afternoon.’ Mabel smiled. ‘We’re looking for number six Tiger Yard.’ There was silence as the women eyed them suspiciously then finally a tall, dark-haired woman in her twenties stepped forward.

‘Who wants to know?’ she snapped.

‘We are Arthur and Mabel Tucker and this is our daughter Daisy,’ Mabel explained. As the woman gave each of them a searching stare, Daisy shivered but managed a tentative smile.

‘And your business ’ere?’ she asked.

‘We have rented rooms to live in,’ Arthur replied, colouring under the woman’s appraisal.

‘Didn’t think you’d come ’ere for a blinkin’ holiday,’ she cackled, gesturing to their laden cart.

‘’Ere Cora, you’s a card, you is,’ one of the other women guffawed but fell silent when she shot her a glare.

‘Must be mistaken about the number though. Rooms in number six is all taken but thirteen has empty ones on the top floor,’ she said, pointing further along the yard.

‘No, it’s definitely the bottom floor of number six. My wife here can’t manage stairs easily and—’

‘Stairs!’ the woman shrieked. ‘Wooden steps, more like, and rickety at that. Like I says, number thirteen’s the only one got any free rooms and you’ll find the key in the door.’

‘There must be some mistake …’ Arthur began but the woman had clearly lost interest and turned back to her friends.

‘Come on, Arthur, let’s go and find number thirteen,’ Mabel insisted, tugging at his sleeve.

‘But the stairs …’

‘I’ll manage,’ she assured him. ‘And Daisy will help unload our things, won’t you?’ she asked.

Seeing her mother’s pleading expression, Daisy nodded.

‘Of course. Well, let’s go and take a look,’ she said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. The sooner they got inside the better, for the cloud of flies swarming around them along with the foul stench coming from the outhouses was making her nauseous. And judging from the way her mother was swaying, her energy along with her optimism was rapidly waning.

‘You help Mother and I’ll go and open up,’ Daisy told her father, pushing open the door marked thirteen. It was dingy inside but, determinedly, she tackled the steep stairs, trying to ignore the dirt littering the hallway. On the top floor a key dangled from one of the door handles. Gingerly, she turned it and, as the wooden panel creaked open, she suppressed a shudder. The bare floorboards were filthy, one rickety chair was upended in the middle of the room, another propped up at a scratched table. A rusty range was set into the corner on which stood a battered skillet. The only other room was taken up by a torn mattress amid huge balls of dust. Cobwebs festooned the ceiling like panels of dingy lace.

‘Looks like the previous occupants left in a hurry,’ Mabel panted as she stood in the living area surveying everything. Letting out a deep sigh, she sank wearily into the chair by the table.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ Arthur said, as he followed her in. ‘The man I paid the rent to definitely said it was rooms on the ground floor.’

‘Well, it’s too late to do anything now; we’ll sort it tomorrow,’ Mabel replied, forcing a smile. ‘We can’t sleep in this mess though. You two go and bring up the bucket, broom and some cloths and we’ll make a start on cleaning this place up.’ Struggling to her feet, she removed her coat, folded it over the back of the chair then rolled up her sleeves. ‘Oh, and you’d better fill the kettle before you bring it up. I take it we’re going to have to share that water pipe outside?’

‘Looks like it,’ Arthur said sadly.

How could her mother even think of staying here, Daisy wondered, as they retraced their steps. This place was worse than dreadful. When she saw the ragamuffins picking through their things, she saw red.

‘Here, get your thieving hands off,’ she shouted, shaking her fists at one who’d climbed onto the barrow and donned her father’s cap and muffler. As she caught hold of his arm to retrieve them, he squealed loudly, alerting the group of women who came scuttling over.

‘Just you take your hands off my Jimmy, you cow,’ a glassy-eyed woman screeched.

‘Not ’til he gives my father’s things back,’ Daisy insisted, hanging onto the wriggling youth.

‘Why you …’ the woman hissed, raising her fist at Daisy.

‘Come now, ladies, we don’t have much ourselves, you know,’ her father said quietly, placing himself firmly between them. ‘Now be a good lad and hand back our things and I’ll help you down,’ he continued, staring into the boy’s face.

‘Can get down meself,’ he muttered, tossing the muffler and cap into the dirt and jumping down on top of them.

‘Why you …’ Daisy cried but as she went to pull him off, her father gave her a warning look and put out a restraining hand.

‘Right then, we’ll start unloading,’ he said adopting a cheerful tone, as he bent and picked them up. Excitement over, the little crowd dispersed, leaving Daisy shaking with anger.

‘How can you be so calm?’ she asked her father.

‘No good getting their backs up. Your mother’s waiting, so fill these while I find the other things we need,’ he said, handing Daisy the bucket and kettle.

‘But you still haven’t told me what’s happened,’ Daisy began. ‘And you do realise there are only two rooms in that dreadful place?’

‘I know,’ he said, frowning. ‘There’s obviously been some mistake and I’ll get it sorted. Now go and fetch that water. We’ll have a brew when we’ve finished and I’ll explain everything then.’ Seeing he wouldn’t be drawn, Daisy walked over to the pump and began filling the utensils with water. The women watched her disdainfully then went back to their gossiping.

While Daisy began the mammoth task of trying to make the rooms habitable, her mother attempted to coax the range into life. Meanwhile, her father bustled back and forth carrying up the few possessions they’d managed to bring with them. No matter how hard her mother tried, the range wouldn’t catch and finally, having only succeeded in filling the room with smoke, she gave up and collapsed back into the chair. Seeing how exhausted her parents looked, Daisy filled their mugs with water then perched on a folded blanket on the windowsill.

‘So, exactly what happened today?’ she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

Arthur sighed, took a long draught then placed his empty mug on the table.

‘For some time now, the women at the factory have been unhappy with their working conditions. Often they find themselves up to their ankles in water and apparently there’s defects with their sanitary arrangements. They even have to make their tea in a bucket, would you believe? Anyhow, this woman called Annie Jacks, a widow with five children to support, dared to voice her concerns, stating that even though she’d worked there for years, her wages were well below the men’s and she could no longer afford to feed her family. The supervisor took against her, making coarse suggestions as to how she could earn more. Then this morning the checking man on the gate reprimanded her for being late and threatened to dock her money. When she protested that she was on time she was sacked. It was obviously a put-up job.’

‘Knowing they’d end up in the workhouse where the family would be split up, your father stood up for her,’ Mabel declared. ‘And I’m proud of him.’

‘Except we both got the sack,’ he said wryly. ‘Not only that, when the other women heard what happened they threatened to go on strike so the foreman dubbed me a troublemaker and refused to pay my week’s wage. Like I said earlier, the landlord didn’t take kindly to me not having all the rent so he kept our best bits of furniture. I had to find us cheaper rooms but I swear the man said they’d be on the ground floor.’

‘Oh Father, that’s a terrible thing to have happened,’ Daisy said, waving away a bluebottle that buzzed against the cracked windowpane. ‘Perhaps you can sort it out with him tomorrow,’ she asked hopefully.

‘I should never have put my own family’s future at risk,’ Arthur cried, banging his fist on the table in despair.

‘You did what you thought right,’ Mabel assured him.

‘But now we’re not far from destitution ourselves.’

‘At least I’ve still got my sewing box so perhaps I can find some alteration work,’ Mabel murmured, looking towards the window doubtfully.

‘And I have a bit left from last week’s pay,’ Daisy said, delving into her pocket and placing a few coins in front of him.

‘You’re a good girl,’ her mother said.

‘Thanks, Daisy; that’ll be a help. But I’ll pay you back as soon as I get another job and decent rooms for us to stay in,’ Arthur said, pocketing the money. ‘I’ll go and see the landlord first thing, then see who’s hiring,’ he added.

‘In the meantime, we’ll just have to make the best of it for tonight,’ her mother said, frowning uncertainly at the mattress through the open doorway.

‘I’ll bed down with a blanket in here,’ Daisy offered, eager to erase the worry lines that creased her mother’s brow.

Hearing the sound of voices outside, they looked at each other but then a door slammed and all went quiet.

‘Must be our neighbours,’ Mabel said. ‘I’ll introduce myself tomorrow.’

‘Be careful, love, you don’t know who—’ Arthur began only to be interrupted by a sharp knock. Exchanging worried looks, Arthur got to his feet but as he opened the door the aroma of meat pies wafted into the room, making Daisy’s stomach growl.

‘Hello there,’ a woman’s voice greeted. ‘I’m Ruby Dickin and these are my daughters Sarah and Emma. We live across the hall and thought we’d pop over and introduce ourselves.’

‘Come on in,’ Mabel called, struggling to her feet. Although Daisy smiled brightly at the women, she couldn’t help her glance straying to the parcels they were clutching.

‘I’m Arthur Tucker, and this is my wife Mabel and daughter Daisy,’ Arthur said making the introductions.

‘Saw we had new neighbours and thought it would be friendly to share our supper, didn’t we, girls? That’s if you haven’t already eaten?’ she added, fair curls frizzing from under her bonnet as she talked. They were all wearing simple gowns, which, although well patched, looked clean, and with their straw-like hair and pale-blue eyes, it was easy to tell they were mother and daughters.

‘How kind. Truth to tell we haven’t even begun thinking of supper,’ Mabel replied. ‘I’d invite you to take a cuppa with us but I can’t get the blessed range to work for love nor money.’ Mabel groaned.

‘It never has done,’ Ruby declared. ‘And to be truthful, gin’s always been Cora’s tipple, if you get my meaning. She were always moaning about having to go downstairs when she needed the privy. Didn’t know she’d moved though ’til we came in and saw her in number six.’

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Daisy asked, staring at her father.

‘I am that,’ Arthur replied, his lips tightening into a line. ‘And I’m also thinking I’m going to tackle her right this minute.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Daisy told him, jumping to her feet, ready to do battle with that horrible woman.

Just then the ring of boots on cobbles and the sound of drunken singing shattered the peace of the evening.

‘What the …’ Daisy began.

‘That’s the men returning from the pub. Drunk as skunks they’ll be and looking for trouble. If I were you, Mr Tucker,’ Ruby advised, ‘I’d come and eat your supper and stay well clear.’

Chapter 3

‘Take a pew, kettle will be ready soon,’ Ruby said, ushering them into her home and removing her bonnet. Daisy couldn’t help looking around and comparing it to the dingy hovel they’d moved into across the hallway. Although the furniture was sparse and had obviously seen better days, everywhere was tidy and clean. Cushions on the wooden chairs and a rag rug beside the table lent the place a homely air.

‘Oh, this is lovely,’ Mabel cried, unwittingly echoing Daisy’s thoughts.

‘Surprising what a difference a few remnants from the market can make. Shame about the outside though.’ Ruby shrugged, as they heard the sound of men swearing, a shout followed by scuffling and then the slamming of doors.

‘Sounds like a flippin’ army on the march out there.’ Arthur frowned, getting up and peering out of the window. ‘Just how many men are there?’

‘Generally, there’s around a hundred people living in this yard,’ Ruby told them.

‘What, just in these two rows of houses?’ Daisy gasped, her eyes widening in horror.

‘Yep. It’s the same in the other three yards. Most of the men meet up in the alehouses of an evening, get drunk, fight, go to bed, sleep it off then start it all over again tomorrow. It’s no wonder some of their women take to gin.’

‘Luckily Arthur doesn’t squander his wages like that,’ Mabel said.

‘Well, good for you, Arthur, though you’re in the minority round here. I was given a glass of gin once. Cried my eyes out all evening and never knew what I was blubbin’ about. Tea’s more to my taste and I’ll make us that brew right now,’ she said, carrying a large brown pot over to the range as the kettle began to sing. ‘Sarah, you cut up those pies and pass them round; Emma, set out some more mugs.’

As they tucked in ravenously, Daisy was pleased to see her mother’s face regain some colour. Today couldn’t have been easy for her. She’d lived in their little house since she’d married Daisy’s father eighteen years ago, saved hard for the few good pieces of furniture they’d had, and now, through no fault of her own, she’d been forced to move to this rough area. Yet, listening to her chatting with Ruby, you’d never think her world had been turned upside down.

‘So, you all work in the laundry then?’ Mabel was asking.

‘Yes, huge place it is. The girls help with the washing and starching, while I iron. It’s backbreaking work but keeps the wolf from the door.’ The woman grimaced.

‘The steam plays havoc with our hair, makes it stiff as straw,’ Emma groaned. ‘And that lye leaves our skin red and raw,’ Sarah added, holding up her mottled hands. The picture they conjured up was so graphic, Daisy imagined sketching it.

‘You’re both very pretty though.’ Mabel smiled. ‘What are you, eighteen? Seventeen?’ The girls beamed delightedly.

‘I’m sixteen and Emma’s fifteen,’ Sarah explained.

‘Our Daisy’s sixteen too,’ Mabel replied.

‘Seventeen in January,’ Daisy added quickly, for she’d felt quite grown up since Harry had proposed. Not that he’d sought her father’s permission yet, only having asked her the night before he left. He’d promised to do things properly when he returned in the autumn, but having an understanding in the meantime was exciting. Almost as if she was aware of her thoughts, Mabel smiled indulgently at her, then turned to Ruby.

‘Have you been here long?’

‘Six years now. These rooms were all I could afford after my George were taken.’

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Mabel murmured.

‘You get used to it.’ Ruby sighed. ‘And my girls are such a comfort,’ she added, beaming at Sarah and Emma. ‘Anyhow, things are on the up now we’ve got nice new neighbours. What brings you to this neck of the woods, if you don’t mind my asking?’

As Arthur explained how their change in circumstances had come about, Ruby nodded sadly. ‘It’s true conditions for women in some of the factories are dire. Though it ain’t right you losing your job for sticking up for a widow with a family to support, sometimes it’s best to keep your head down.’

‘But things do need to change,’ Sarah cried, staring at her mother in horror.

Daisy nodded. ‘Perhaps women should start speaking up for themselves.’

‘Not easy though, is it? My friend Fanny works ten and a half hours each day in the jam factory lugging huge vats of boiling pulp across the floor. She’s always scalding herself on the sticky syrup and her arms are a right mess. Yet it’s a job, and her family need her wages so she daren’t risk being sacked,’ Ruby lamented, shaking her head. ‘What about you, Daisy? Where do you work?’

‘At the Fun Factory,’ she replied. ‘I began by helping to clean the costumes and now run errands, that sort of thing. I really love drawing and my ambition is to work with the scenery designers,’ she added. They stared admiringly at her and she wondered if she’d made it sound grander than it was.

‘You’d best be careful; sit still for two minutes and you’ll find yourself in a picture,’ Mabel quipped, making them laugh.

‘Actually, there’s a vacancy coming up that I intend going for. It’ll mean more money,’ Daisy said, looking to her father for approval. But his lips tightened and she realised money was a sore subject. ‘Still, I enjoy it there and even get to meet some of the performers,’ she added quickly.

‘Have you met that Charlie Chaplin bloke?’ Emma asked excitedly.

‘Not yet, but I keep hoping. Lots of actors use the factory rehearsal rooms to work out their routines, so you never know who you’ll bump into.’

‘And do women get treated the same as men?’

‘It’s not something I’ve thought about,’ she admitted. ‘Although some like Scarlett, she’s one of the artists, do have opportunities to progress. Mr Karno, the Guv’nor, takes on people for their talents and expertise.’

‘Don’t tell me we have an enlightened employer around here?’ Ruby exclaimed.

‘It’s time women had more of a say and I’m going to join the suffrage movement for that very reason,’ Sarah declared. ‘They’ve a meeting in the halls next weekend; why don’t you come along, Daisy?’

‘Oh, we won’t be here then,’ Mabel interrupted before Daisy could reply.

‘No, of course not,’ Ruby agreed. ‘So, what are your plans, Arthur?’

‘First thing in the morning, I’m going to see who’s hiring. Then I’ll pay a visit to that landlord who promised me rooms on the ground floor,’ he growled.

‘Good for you. And what about you, Mabel?’ Ruby asked, glancing down at Mabel’s misshapen legs. ‘Not that I’m being nosy, you understand.’

‘Used to be a seamstress in Maison Fashions until a fall messed up my legs. Since then I’ve taken in mending and alterations but it’s unlikely there’ll be any work in Tiger Yard,’ she said wryly. ‘But then we’ll not be here long.’

‘Well, good luck with that. I only came here for a few months to sort myself out but time rolls on and the rent keeps going up.’ She shrugged, stifling a yawn.

‘I can’t thank you enough for your kindness tonight. That pie and tea were lifesavers,’ Mabel said, getting to her feet. ‘Let me help clear away before we go.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, would we, girls?’ Ruby replied. Sarah and Emma shook their heads.

‘It’s been fun hearing about your job, Daisy. Do you ever get to see any of the shows?’ Emma asked, looking at her hopefully.

‘Oh, my Lor’,’ Daisy cried, slapping her forehead. ‘I was meant to be meeting Kezia at the Hippodrome earlier.’

‘Well, I’m sure she’ll understand,’ Mabel replied. ‘Now come along; it’s been a busy day and we must let these ladies get to their beds. Thank you again for your kindness. You must let me cook you a meal in return; hopefully it won’t be next door though.’

‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you lovely folk. If you’re still here tomorrow when we get back from the laundry, I’ll pop in and look at your range. Blinkin’ temperamental most of them, but you can usually get them to work. Lucky it’s summer or you’d be shivering in your boots.’

Their rooms seemed even more bleak after the cosiness of Ruby’s home and Daisy tried not to cringe.

‘At least it’s getting dark so we won’t see any remaining dust,’ Mabel said with forced cheerfulness.

‘Or mice,’ Daisy grimaced as they heard scratching coming from the corner of the room.

‘Dread to think what’s behind that old range,’ Mabel muttered. ‘Can’t believe anyone could live in such squalor. You’d think that woman would have had more pride. I mean Ruby’s got the same accommodation yet she’s made it homely.’

‘As I’m sure you would, my dear,’ Arthur replied.

‘I sincerely hope it won’t come to that,’ she shuddered. ‘Now, come and help me make up that mattress in the other room. Are you sure you’ll be alright in here, Daisy?’

‘Yes, I’ll bed down with a blanket,’ she replied, grabbing one with mock enthusiasm, for she couldn’t imagine she’d get a wink of sleep.

To Daisy’s surprise, despite hearing the strange noises of the building settling for the night, and the scratching and scuttling coming from behind the walls, the upsets of the day caught up with her and she soon fell asleep.

The sun was creeping above the horizon when Daisy woke. She felt stiff from sleeping on the floor and clambered gingerly to her feet, stretching to ease her muscles. Her father’s cap had gone from the back of the chair so he must have crept out at first light in order to find work. Hearing her mother’s gentle snores, she hurriedly dressed and slipped outside. Despite the early hour, she had to queue to use the disgusting facilities the outhouse offered. Everyone looked bleary-eyed as they shuffled impatiently from one leg to the other and clutched their precious supply of paper. Nobody took any notice of her, although one old man leered lasciviously as he came out of the privy, stopping right in front of her and making a show of doing up his trousers. Deliberately, she turned away and, ignoring his ribald remarks, hurried into the vacant cubicle.

The stench made her retch for the floor was awash with goodness knows what. How on earth could people live in such filth, she wondered, as she hurried out of the yard and retraced her steps of the previous day. She hoped her father found employment quickly so that they could move on, for she knew her mother would have trouble managing the stairs. She wished she could stay and help but her money was needed more than ever so she didn’t dare risk being late for work.

As she hurried down the alley and past the public house, the disgusting smell from the outhouse seemed to stay with her, but then her attention was taken up by the volume of traffic teeming round the roads by the Green. Electric trams, their bells clanging were sparking and squeaking their way to and from the town centre; horse-drawn ones were heading out to the suburbs; the occasional motor car wove between the laden carts while wagons of all shapes and sizes jostled for position on the cobbles as they all tried to avoid the tram lines. People were rushing in all directions on the pavements in front of the shops and the noise and chaos was horrendous. Daisy realised she must have been too shocked to take it all in the previous evening.

Having weaved her way through the bustling throng, she turned into the comparative quiet of Coldharbour Lane and joined the workers making their way through the wide doors of the Fun Factory. After listening to the tales Sarah and Emma had to tell about the working conditions for women at other factories, Daisy now realised how lucky she was. However, their discussion had certainly spurred her on to ask Stan, the overseer, about being promoted. After all, the worst that could happen would be he’d say no. Determined to tackle him, she squared her shoulders and strode down the corridor.

‘Surprised to see you heading towards Tiger Yard last night,’ Arnie sneered as he appeared beside Daisy. ‘And with that barrow being loaded up like that, anyone would think you’d moved there.’

‘But I thought you lived in the other direction,’ Daisy countered.

‘I do,’ he scoffed, stressing the words. ‘Thought you did too but if you’ve hit hard times you’ve only got to tell Arnie,’ he added, thrusting his pointed face closer. Immediately, he jumped back again, his nose wrinkling. ‘Blimey,’ he groaned, then his expression turned to one of glee.

Daisy was about to ask what was wrong when she saw the overseer bearing down on them.

‘Bragg, go and tidy the props-room; Tucker, get yourself along to the studio,’ he ordered.

Remembering her earlier resolve she smiled. ‘Sir, I’ve been thinking—’

‘Well, do it later. Come on, jump to it. We’ve important American visitors arriving any moment.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Daisy replied and much to her surprise, instead of arguing, Arnie shot her a jubilant look and swaggered off towards the storeroom.

Resolving to speak to the overseer later, Daisy let herself into the studio.

‘Morning. I hear we have important visitors arriving soon, so what can I do to help?’

‘Nice to see someone so bright and breezy,’ Scarlett murmured, looking up from the floor where she was kneeling beside her canvas. ‘If you could just pass me that brush,’ she added, gesturing to the desk. But as Daisy turned to do so, she heard her gasp.

‘Heavens, Daisy, what on earth have you got down the back of your skirt?’

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